a morning

Walking around the various corridors of the university looking for my classroom, I cannot but help feel a visceral sense of deep self-loathing. I talk to two females from my course but I've lost all of my batterys in my iPhone so I feel alone. I poke my head in most of the classrooms without apologising. I start to feel myself sweating; not because I'm late, but because my hair is not dry and has not had time to set, which I am conscious of. I take off my hoody and walk through a hall of people, ignoring my friends, later to say: "I did not see you" when questioned about it.

I concede that I cannot make my lecture, so I just go and eat some jerk chicken on pitta bread on my own in the canteen. With a glass of water, I notice someone I don't like in the room, so I glare at him with a small grin on my face; imagining a laser-guillotine slicing his head off with the precision of an ancient Egyptian architect. Then I think about using his head as a football and throwing his body in a stream, with a clackety wooden bridge over it, oversized daisys are scattered throughout the long grass that surrounds the bridge and lily pads float gracefully across the water bouncing off his severed ankle-joint (since I have already mutilated his left foot,and left it on display downtown in 'T-reds') before a young girl of six or ten interrupts this beautiful scene by shrieking cowardly and running home to her mummy who is smoking the last of her hash in a single skin with a pinch of two-week old tobacco. As this is all happening I am still staring at the guy, but my smile has grown to a maniacal leer. I feel my trouser pocket and I think for a moment that I have my phone back, but quickly realise it is just my raging hard-on.

In the library I decide that 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is too long to read, and check out 'Beavis and Butthead Do America" instead.